


light enough for a soul to bare

by phantomlistener



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, s3e07: Bad Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 14:39:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17789267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener
Summary: Miss Hardbroom arrives on Julie's doorstep, supposedly to apologise.  It would be laughable if she weren't entirely serious.  Post-ep for "Bad Magic".





	light enough for a soul to bare

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Water, Wind, and Broken Glass](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/water-wind-and-broken-glass/) by Cristina Geanta.

Julie Hubble is dancing in the kitchen when the doorbell goes.

Hitting pause on _80s Pop Hits_ (although interrupting Cyndi Lauper is tantamount to blasphemy in the Hubble household), she puts the pan she was drying back on the hob and half-skips, half-runs the scant metres to the front door, teatowel over her shoulder. “Just a sec!” she calls brightly, and opens the door.

And stops.

In front of her, looking uncomfortable and more than a bit wary, is Miss Hardbroom.  “Ms. Hubble,” she says, in that same condescending tone Julie has heard all term. “I would have transferred straight in but I didn't want to... _alarm_ you.”

“Right, thanks.  Still alarmed, though, actually, I didn't expect to see you again until our next enforced interaction at parents' evening.  Is something wrong?  Is Mildred-”

“Mildred is fine," she interrupts.  "It's just that Ada suggested I-” her nose crinkles in unconcealed disdain- “owe you an apology.” She almost spits the last word, as if it's poison she's sucked from her own body.

“And what makes you think I _want_ your insincere apology, eh, Miss H?” Julie says.  Her tone rings too-bright and insincere in her own ears.

“Because it is not...insincere.” Miss Hardbroom speaks as if the cogs in her brain are working at half-speed, slow and unsure. “This hasn't been the easiest year, Ms. Hubble. My judgement has been...”

“Lacking? Yeah, I figured that one out after the third mean comment. Or was it the fourth? There were so many.”

Miss Hardbroom visibly deflates, and after weeks of seeing her storm around the hallways of Cackle's with a permanent air of anger and suspicion, wrapped tight in a sheath of crackling antagonism, it's a shock to see her suddenly just a tired, sad woman leaning worryingly heavily on the frame of Julie's front door.

“You'd better come in,” she says reluctantly, and shows her in to the small, brightly-furnished living area. “Tea?”

It's an automatic question, more politeness than anything else, so she's surprised when Hecate nods. “That would be...nice. Thank you.”

Julie busies herself with the kettle, and rummages for the gaudiest, most tasteless mug she owns, aware as she does so of Miss Hardbroom perched awkwardly like some kind of oversized bat amongst the patchwork cushions and fleece blankets that adorn the sofa. “I think I liked it better when you were mean to me,” she says over the rising grumble of the kettle. “This silence is all very ominous. If I talk too much do I get turned to stone?”

Miss Hardbroom gasps, that single sharp intake of breath somehow more spontaneous and emotional than any of her pointed outbursts at Cackle's, and Julie knows with preternatural certainty that she's said the wrong thing. It's typical, really: the one time she manages to get a real reaction from Miss Superiority-Complex just has to be when the bloody woman's trying to apologise. She makes a pained face at the suddenly-silent kettle (some partner in crime that appliance has turned out to be) and turns around. “Look, Miss H-”

“Hecate,” says the tired woman on her sofa. “You might as well call me Hecate.”

“Alright, Hecate then. Look, it seems to me like there's a lot going on here I don't understand. Nothing new there, I'll grant you that, but if you're gonna be all dramatic in my front room then you might as well tell me why.”

The glare she gets in return is positively kitten-like in its intensity compared with the full force of Hecate's displeasure and she's half-amused, half-concerned, hides it by turning back to pour the tea.

“It's a...long story,” Hecate says softly behind her. “And, I'm afraid, not a happy one.” The acidity creeps back into her voice, although there's no bite to it. “I'm sure Mildred will tell you everything, if she hasn't already.”

Julie smiles, and hands her the mug: it's a half-hearted attempt to bait her, and she refuses to rise to it. “If there's one thing my Millie's good at, it's keeping other people's secrets. But one thing she did say was that you put yourself in danger for her, when I was...you know...”

“Not yourself,” Hecate finishes for her.

“On a magical rampage, I was gonna say, but I like yours better.” Tentatively, she takes a seat at the other end of the sofa, curling her legs up underneath her and pulling a soft pink-and-yellow patterned cushion into her lap. “That's the second time you've put yourself between Millie and danger, without thinking about your own safety. Clearly you don't have as big a problem with her as you like to pretend, so I have to ask...why do you hate _me_ so much?”

“Ada should never have hired you,” Hecate says decisively.

So much for openness and apologies. “But-”

“She should never have hired you,” she continues firmly, steamrollering Julie's objections, “because the last time a member of Cackle's Academy... _fraternised_...with a non-magical person...the results were catastrophic.” The hesitation and uncertainty that had surrounded her earlier have evaporated, and she is once again every inch the haughty, powerful witch. “The magical and non-magical worlds simply cannot mix if the students are to be kept safe.”

“And that's that?! Once upon a time something went wrong, and that makes it okay to – and please excuse my language – behave like a complete bitch towards someone you barely know? There's something you're not telling me, Hecate Hardbroom, and don't you try and pretend otherwise.”

Hecate stares at her for a long minute. “Very well,” she says eventually. “I suppose you might deserve an... _explanation_.” She takes a deep breath and curls her fingers tightly around the garishly painted mug between her hands. “When I was a child, I was...foolish. I was captivated by the non-magical world, by all the people who couldn't see me as I wandered around, and...most of all, by the one girl who could. Her name was Indigo Moon, and she was my best friend.” She almost smiles, her eyes surprisingly soft. “Then the teachers found out. They restricted me to the Academy, and instead of accepting my punishment, I...one half term, I invited her into the school. I stole a Wishing Star and I gave her magic.”

Whatever Julie had been expecting to hear, it isn't this, and it's a moment before she realises she's staring, mouth open.

“You know better than anyone what that can do to a person,” Hecate says, quiet and sad. “Her living flesh turned to stone in front of me, much as yours began to do – except in my case, there was no wise ancestor to provide an antidote.”

“So what happened to her?” she asks, finally finding her voice. “Indigo – where is she now?”

Hecate holds her gaze. “If you venture out to the woods surrounding Cackle's Academy, you will find a stone statue in a clearing.” Her eyes are suspiciously bright. “I...visit her, every now and then.”

“That's _awful_ ,” Julie breathes.

“I was punished,” Hecate shoots back, and just like that the unfamiliar softness is gone. “Confined to Cackle's and never permitted to leave.”

“No, I meant- wait, Cackle's is your _prison_?” Too late, Julie tries to smooth the horror from her expression.

Again, something that's almost a smile settles on Hecate's lips. “For a time, perhaps. Cackle's ceased to be my... _prison_ , as you put it, once I left school. I went to university, and then to Witch Training College. By the time I qualified as a teacher, Ada was Headmistress. I applied for a job, and she....” She looks away, as if to hide the gentleness that has settled on her face, and sets that godawful mug down carefully on the coffee table. “She took a chance. Now my imprisonment is voluntary, rather than enforced.”  Her voice is only slightly pained when she adds, "For this and many other reasons that are not mine to share, the decision to allow you to teach at Cackle's did not bring out my best behaviour."

It's an unbelievable story, but Hecate has told it with such unfeigned simplicity that she instinctively believes every word – and aside from that, it's exactly the sort of ridiculous, dramatic thing she's come to expect from life at Cackle's, both from her own experience and from Mildred's- “Wait a minute,” she says, sharp panic rising in her voice. “Is this gonna happen to Mildred? Or any of the others? One mistake and they're, what, thrown into wizard jail or something?”

“I would give my life rather than see any one of them harmed,” Hecate says fiercely, and Julie would laugh except it's clear that she is completely, one hundred percent serious. Not for the first time, the thought crosses her mind that this is not a woman who does things by halves.

“Right, okay, so you're...what, their guardian angel?”

“Cloying, and entirely inaccurate. I am their teacher, Ms. Hubble, I teach them how to obey the rules and I teach them of the consequences should they fail to do so. I'm sure you'll agree that I am supremely qualified.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Julie asks, clutching her cushion closer against her stomach. “I just want to know that she's safe.”

“Your daughter is safer at Cackle's than she would be at some... _ordinary_ school.” She rolls the second r, draws it out as if she's pronouncing some sort of foreign curse word. “I promise you that.”

“And you'll look after her?”

"As I have for some time," Hecate affirms.  Glancing down, she opens the pocketwatch that hangs eternally around her neck.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm due back for the final rounds before bed."

There are a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue but Hecate is already fading at the edges, swirling clouds of black dust eating at her silhouette, and then she's gone.

Julie Hubble picks up the remote control from the coffee table, presses play on the CD player, and closes her eyes, lets the familiar upbeat tune wash over her and soothe away the headache that's been lingering ever since Hecate turned up and started talking about apologies. 

Witches, she thinks, can be such hard work.

 


End file.
